movers and fakers
by iloveyou123
Summary: And she lets her eat half of her ice cream cone, even though it's blue moon and that's her favorite flavor. Santana/Brittany.


movers & fakers

pairing: santana/brittany.

summary: Santana loves Brittany the same way she hates her- too much.

a/n: This is my first time writing Santana/Brittany (though I've wanted to for a while, because these guys are hilarious on Glee) and I hope you like and maybe review and tell me what you think :)

* * *

It's hard for Santana to be around Brittany. Not just now, because everyone knows about them (and it's like, who cares, right? Because Santana doesn't care- that's not what she does. She does fucking and maybe dating but any feeling too strong and that includes love and hate, she doesn't even acknowledge). So what? The guys just want them more and the girls just hate them more and everyone is still jealous of her and still half in love with Brittany- everyone loves Brittany. Santana has never met anyone who hasn't loved Brittany. She's sweet and innocent and lovely, like a flower or fucking- fucking, something (but it's like whatever, you know).

It's hard for her to be around Brittany because she loves her, too (except she doesn't) and she _hates her_, too (except she doesn't).

* * *

"Did you know dolphins are just gay sharks?"

Santana has to physically hold herself back from hugging Brittany or punching her, and she's never really sure after that which she would have done.

Because right then she sounded like a fairy or a child, her voice all light and airy and wonderful- except Santana does not use words like that- and she maybe also wanted to kiss her. But they were in public and anyways, kissing her for that would have had something to do with feelings and Santana, Santana does not do feelings.

(She does do _Brittany_ feelings though, apparently, because later she takes Brittany out for ice cream and pays extra for sprinkles and lets her eat half of her ice cream cone too, even though it was blue moon and that's her favorite flavor. And she wouldn't have done that for just anyone.)

* * *

_Sex is not dating._

She says these words in her head so many times she's positive she has it memorized- she can hear them, the whisper with every second her heart beats.

_Sex is not dating._

_If it were-_

But it's not, she always mentally cuts off Brittany at that point (because Brittany is _wrongwrongwrong_ and Santana knows this because she's recited the words so many times she could say them backwards).

It's her only rule (_sex is not dating_) and every time Brittany licks her lips, every time their hands brush together, Santana says it over and over and over. _Sex is not dating_- every time her heart beats.

* * *

The words are on the tip of her tongue all the time. Once, she's talking to Brittany about the latest lipgloss/skirts/jeans from wherever (she forgets when she talks to her, something about the way Brittany's hair kind of glows under the stupid flourescent lights and she kind of looks like a stupid angel and Santana kind of loses her stupid train of thought) and she almost says it.

_I love you._

(I fucking love you, and I can't make it stop, even if I wanted to- which I do. I love you I love you I love you I love you. I love you but I hate you at the same time, too much and not enough. I want to be with you but whenever you're around I have to leave, I want to be away from you but I never can stand it when you're gone. I'm a slut and a whore and a bitch and you're so much better and I hate you for it and I love you. I fucking- fucking-)

"I- I-" Brittany stares at her with her blue eyes that widen with worry. _Are you okay?_

"I've got to go." Santana spits out and she races in whatever direction she does, because it shouldn't matter to her, and she shouldn't even be thinking those words, much less (almost) saying them.

* * *

"Hi." Brittany says with a smile as she slips onto the bench and settles in next to Santana. She had kind of wanted to be alone, but Brittany obviously didn't and wasn't going to take that hint. She decides that's another quality of hers she can neither love nor hate, some strange mix of the two that she'll never figure out.

She feels fingers reach, twist, tangle with hers.

"Hi." Santana whispers back and she could leave if she wanted to, but she decides she's comfortable and she doesn't really want to walk all the way home, anyway.

(besides, it's like, whatever, right?)

(who cares?)

* * *

fin.


End file.
